


When Rain Became Snow

by sansgria (Aeonox)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Comfort, Drama, Gen, Hurt, Pre-Frisk, changing POV per chapter but written in second person / you, development of the Underworld, friendship fic mostly, no idea if I'll do ships later down the line, will eventually have spoilers but warnings will be given prior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeonox/pseuds/sansgria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grillby is a single father, doing his best working as a waiter and bouncer in New Home to provide the best he can for his daughter, Fuku. One day, his ordinary life lands him on the edge of a catastrophic time-space disaster, heralded by a small skeleton who is coping with the aftermath destroying his life. <br/>To Sans, the foundation of their friendship lies in the fact Grillby never asks questions he knows he can't have the answer to.</p><p>(Pre-Frisk timeline developing the past of the characters and the relationships which bring them to the present. Rated tentatively because I'm developing the story as I write.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh please bare with me, there is a lot of headcanon mixed in here. POV will stay in second/ you, but who's perspective will change per chapter.
> 
> This chapter: Grillby

Today began like any other day. You woke up rather luke warm from a distant memory embedded deeply into your dreams, but they vanished like smoke. The taste left in your mouth was bitter, maybe even metallic, an awful taste you knew you couldn't get rid of with a simple kerosene mouthwash. Laying there inactive after a short time, it feels like more of a strain to stay here than it is to get up and face the world. You roll out into a steam shower of propane. You feel a little more ready afterwards, relaxed and burning brighter, and you flex your fingers in a test of dexterity. Today might be a good day after all.

When you come by to wake your daughter, she's already kindled, fussing over her clothing in a mirror, blazing with emotion. She's always beautiful. After some reassurance by yours truly, she does manage to calm herself enough, lick back the wisps of her hair in style. You wish she would act her age, but it came with being wise beyond her years. Some say you're the same way. 

Maybe that's true.

You escort her to the school yard where she pairs up with her Vulkin friend, Lapilli, right away. Instantly, they're chattering on about the new MTT complex being built and their magic discoveries as growing children. It's nice to listen to them. They try to dig an opinion out of you whether the next release should be that blue lipstick bag with the hoola-hooping bats on it or the yellow lipstick bag with the H8RG8TR-tshirt wearing dragons. They succumbed, because you were far more capable of making them uncomfortable than they were you. You wait patiently with legs crossed until the school bell rings, and after she's disappeared into class, you linger like a ghost. The school administration think nothing of this intrusion. Today is just like any other day.

It's… just the way it is. There isn't a lot to do in the Hotlands as long as the CORE isn't acting up, and you hate going into New Home on a good day. Things stay quiet around here, peaceful, despite engineering mishaps and violent explosions. That felt quiet, too, in comparison. Life has been far more tumultuous than this, even if it was only on a personal level.

You know where most of the geysers are by now, carefully navigating around them to reach your favorite spot. The one where you can look over the edge at the expanding advancements of the CORE. From here, you admire the contrast between new and old, and reminisce about it. Once, this was all a vast landscape of magma as far as the eye can see. New Home was where they had all found shelter after the war, but it felt exactly like what it was- a prison. A prison they were sentenced to live out through the end of time, and all of the saber-rattling about human souls wouldn't change it. It sounds so very unlikely. Maybe, you feel that way because you're happy here, you're adjusted, and you don't need to see that world above to feel whole. 

Today is like any other day. The magma sputters, waxing and waning as a gear shifts over from the energy collection apparatus. The sound is soothing and you sit on the hardened earth to relish the heat wafting up from below. There was still plenty of time before you had to go into work. Maybe, afterwards, you can pick up Fuku from school and surprise her with a trip to the MTT gift shop. Some of the merchandise there was less painful on the wallet than the designer bags and clothing. She deserved to be happy. If you were a better father, you wouldn't have to question that sense of fulfillment, but alas...

This is all you have to offer her.

**_B A N G_ **

In the middle of your wandering daydreams, something strange clearly happened. The sound was jarring and accompanied by a rush of strange energy, your flames flaring out in both shock and self defense as you scramble back onto your heels, knees pressed to your chest in a crouch and wildly looking around. What? And where-?

Your first thought, and inspection, was the CORE, but nothing showed to be amiss. In fact, the diligent worker outside didn't even seem phased by the horrible shockwave that felt like it would peel you off your feet. How… completely bizarre. Weirder yet, you thought you saw the building morph a little with your own eyes- like it had changed appearance in the time before and after the blast. As you try to pinpoint what exactly looked different, you found the details were now fuzzy in your memory. Even after spending a near daily routine staring at the same spot. _Why?_

A few more minutes passed with nothing eventful to note, or even notice. You calm down finally, coming to the conclusion that it was probably all in your head. After all, it could have just been some pressurized gas that broke up from underground and happened to react poorly to your flame.

It's time to go. Even if it isn't, you don't want to stay here anymore to confirm or deny your suspicions. With a kick of your heels, you glide off of your isolated platform to return to the main roads of the Hotlands, heading off to work.

 

New Home is where most of the jobs are at. Entrepreneurs and special Royal projects began the expansion into the Hotlands and Waterfall, but the majority of the population stayed cooped up in the city. _You **hate** being here._ Its drab and dull and void of personality. Monsters dressed the same, talked the same, carpooled the same way to their identical jobs harvesting resources and information. You had the same customers everyday, ordering the same boring meals and talking about the same boring or depressing topics. How did they go on with such monotony in their daily lives? You can't fathom it. It's why you're so willing to pay top rate rent with your meager wage just to get out of this mirror-filled hellscape.

You straighten your bow tie as you get ready to start another day at the Bison Bistro, moving to check the filters on the coffee pots. Before you get to pick up your first patron to serve, your jerk boss and manager, Bufellow, pokes you hard in the back with a horn. 

For someone who lived in New Home, he stood out like a sore thumb, but for all the wrong reasons. He had the kind of gnarled face only a mother could love, mixed with an abrasive personality a wildebeest would find too coarse for even brief interaction with. He's jeering you as his horn digs into where your shoulder blade would be on your vest. That actually hurts, but you'd never tell him, as you know it would only encourage him to do worse. You fight to urge to flare up this early in the day and instead try to will him to spontaneously combust on his own accord.  
Sadly, that isn't the case. 

"Hey Toasty, back here!" _What could he want now?_ You exhale and reluctantly follow him back to the kitchen. He turns back to face you once out of earshot of the patrons, his tails whipping about behind him. 

"Our ice shipment yesterday melted and it's _your fault_! You better go get more before I snuff you out, boy!" You roll your invisible eyes to yourself, glancing over his shoulder at the ice box left open, puddles of water dripping everywhere. The idiot must have forgotten to check if it was closed last night… "Go on, haul ass! There's plenty of ice just outside of the Waterfall, so I don't wanna hear any excuses! _Git!_ " Bufellow stomps a hoof and twists his head to chop at you with another horn, but this time you're better prepared, fumbling backwards across the ground to buy space between your spirits. 

You nod and throw off your apron before he can try again.

 

You were convinced your inconsiderate manager sent you out because you knew how hard it was for you to navigate the Waterfall, especially lugging a heavy freezebox. Luckily, you happened upon a mysterious ferryman who seemed to know exactly where the ice you sought was, skirting across the water in their boat.

You could hardly believe the sight. You had read about the sudden drop in temperature west of the falls causing an unusual weather event, but never had imagined what you were seeing now. It looked like the landscape had become the _inside_ of the freezebox you were carrying. There was snow and ice everywhere, blanketing the trees in white and silver. The harsh cold wind whipped through your flames, though still much too weak to blow you out. What could have caused such a dramatic change? Puzzled, you set your gaze upon the cloaked ferryman, but he remained silent, waiting patiently for you to make your exit.

Obliging, you set about your task to gather the dagger-like icicles hanging low from the branches of trees, like it was just another day at work. You have to move quickly to prevent the ice from heating up in your hands, depositing them in the box and moving right along. The freezebox was becoming quite heavy and, once filled, you sit on top of the closed lid for a momentary break. It was getting even a little chilly for your own comfort, glancing around for something less drenched in snow for suitable kindle-

That's when you saw it. Something black in the distance, staying upright and stark against the sea of pristine snow. You can't make out the shape at all, but your curiosity is peaked nonetheless. "Hello," You lift up your voice just higher than its usual murmur, and wait for a response. It moves, but in an uncertain stagger. If it's a monster, which you're beginning to suspect from it's fuzzy shape, it looks like a lost one. The snow is practically blinding, so you feel bad for them and hull up your freezebox, sloshing through the snow to them. "Do you need help?"

Still, no response. You feel more anxious as they appear more and more confused and bewildered, you swore you saw two obsidian eye sockets, etched in helplessness as their shape rounded in worry around fractured cracks along their skull. Within this darkness, piercing white orbs settled onto your face… but in a blink, a gale of frozen wind nearly blew out your head and tossed a heavy dust of snow from the ground between you. When it settled, you were stunned to find no one there at all.

 _Just a snowperson_ … Now you really wonder if you're going crazy. You could have sworn there was a tall monster and not some inanimate object, but now that you've pushed yourself close, you can confirm it as only an ice sculpture, wearing a black gown with one hand raised. The head it bore resembled the color of what you imagined, but had no distinguishing features at all like what you imagined...

 _Who would come this far into a frozen wasteland just to make a snowman_ , you wonder before noting the single extended appendage of their construct. It was… pointing to a building of some kind. Well, that would explain who, perhaps. Maybe it was even a sign for travelers to find their way, seeing as how everything blurred into a white mess.

You have no trepidation at all to approaching the building and gently knocking on the door. You could use a short reprieve from the harsh wind to rekindle. But as you rap on the door, it creaks, sliding open. Now that was… puzzling. The door wasn't even shut all the way. You continue without qualm, slipping your head through the opening and calling out again. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

Silence greeted you. The air was stagnant and suffocating, as if the air had been vacuumed out. You can't tell what is ahead, but somehow, it feels _colder_ in here than it does outside. A different kind of cold, perhaps, like the chill that shivers down your back when you're being watched. It's enough to change your mind, fearing whatever presence was watching you from within the void, but the light of your flames glimmers off of something within and forces you to pause your hasty retreat. 

It's a monster. You feel even more sure of it this time than last. They're laying face-first, so you believe, into the purple tiles and they're perfectly still. "H-Hello," you crackle again, trepidation clear in the wane of your voice. No response. You hazard to move closer and inspect their condition, fully entering the seemingly abandoned building. You find they are a standard bipedal skeleton, and rather small in stature. You hold your breath, looking around helplessly for those eyes you knew was there judging you, hoping they, or anyone else, might do something about this uncomfortable situation you're in. Preferably, if they had a better idea of _what_ to do. You look back at the monster, eager to see a sign of movement on their part.

There was none. In fact, if you didn't know better about the nature of souls, the monster looked entirely dead from where you stood. Maybe they were still dying. The tiles, you finally noticed, bore severe scuff marks from his body skating across them. You're not familiar with skeletons of all monsters, so you won't risk touching them with your flaming hands, not yet anyway.

You call out to them once more, hoping they can still hear you, but there was no sign of life. At first you opted to follow the trajectory of their body with the scuff marks, it seemed they came from much further within the building. The source was something just outside of your glow, and nothing you had intention of meeting.

For flicker's sake, why did this have to happen to you? Your magic is fire, the embodiment of destruction. Not healing. You don't even know someone with healing arcana. But, you're compelled to try and do something. Maybe they were knocked out by the- whatever it was that sent their body careening across the floor. Yeah. You can just wake them up and they'll be really grateful. That's all.

"Excuse me," You whisper as to not startle them too badly, but the truth was it was more natural of a tone for you, as you tried to peer at their face from a squatting position. You can't read their expression. "Are you okay?" There isn't a response. You can feel the flames on your back prickle. Even if nothing good comes of it… at the very least, _you can't sit here and watch this stranger turn to dust_. You aren't the kind of hazard who leaves someone in trouble flat on their face. 

So it's settled. You swallow back the leaping anxiety building within your burn and gently touch their sleeved arm, steering them to roll over. Now on their back, you can see that they are wearing a lab coat like some of the workers out by the CORE, but it's shredded. Their face is expressionless, eyesockets black as the room around and nearly closed, jaw slack. Their breathing is shallow and soft, and you fret that this monster had fallen down. What if it was contagious?! No… that wouldn't explain the lab coat and the scuff marks. You attempt to slide your hand against their cheekbone to give them a soft shake, but wince back in recoil. They were also frightfully cold, easily as cold as this room if not colder.

What in all of the Underground was this, and why did it have to be you to find it?

You mull over some final morbid considerations, of just pretending none of this ever happened and leaving them here, but the thoughts are mismatched with your spirit, burning to a calm smolder and already guiding the poor soul into your arms. They seemed to sigh in response to your much warmer body, but there was no further signs of cognition after that, eyesockets closed.

Good grief… Guess this wasn't going to be like any other day, huh?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby deals with the repercussions of his actions.
> 
> Grillby POV

This was a mistake. You're taking up someone else's problems and you shouldn't. Every decision you make affects your daughter. You can't do this.

When you reach the ferryman, one arm tightly pressing a small skeleton to your left side, the other dragging along a freezebox behind you, shaking like a leaf in the howling wind, you expected more of a reaction from them. Maybe you were secretly hoping they were a cloaked, riddle-speaking angel, ready to relieve you of your self-inflicted duty and reassure you that there was no point in rescuing the near-dead. You knew that was wrong, imposing your hopes onto other people, but it didn't stop you. They stood nonchalant and waited for you to load up with your new cargo, humming a diddy without a care in the world.

This time you sat in their boat more defeated, looking down at the poor soul and bordering between guilt and panic. You were stuck on what to do next since you still needed to return to work. Maybe- there was a missing monster report you could file? Just like… just like her…

No. You can't live on that precipice again. Especially not for a stranger.

The boat ride was too short as the feet skid to a halt across the water. You lugged your cargo off and stood there momentarily to look at the split path ahead and debate going home. No, if you drop this stranger off there, you'd _really_ be saddled with whatever happens. Besides, what if they thought you kidnapped them? Your main intent coming this far was to take them some place where they could warm up…

Your deliberation paid off, as an idea finally came to mind. You take the path to the left and stop before the bridge, propping the skeleton to lean up against the water cooler. There! They could warm up near the Hotland's lava, and there was water right there for to drink if they were thirsty. It was better than being alone in that creepy, frozen building, and maybe _someone_ would recognize them here. Or have more ability to help than you do at present.

Relieved of this burden, you hurry off to New Home with the freezebox.

 

Lunch hour was always bustling. You suffered through working here because the repetition of the patrons meant a reliable source of tips, and they were pretty good. Some of the manager's hoofed friends had come in today, noisy as ever, but they provided a welcome distraction for Bufellow. It enabled you a smoke break for a change, and you stepped out the back doors of the kitchen into the musty alleyway behind the main street. You took out your pack of cinnamon sticks to light. Your flames are invigorated by the dry substance, and burning in quiet, you blow out hot white smoke, sitting and staring at a lifeless city. There's nothing of interest out. Everyone is at work or out to lunch, even the cab service is taking a break. You finish burning up the cinnamon and your mind wanders, reconsidering the obstacles of the day.

There was first that weird explosion, but that was near the CORE, in the Hotlands, right? So, it couldn't have anything to do with a weird building west of the Waterfalls. But, at the same time, your frozen find was wearing the lab dress code, like the assistants and engineers of the CORE… Was that building a lab? What were they even doing out there- and why were they all alone? Surely, they wouldn't have gone out there all alone.

Well, whoever was looking for them now can find them in the Hotlands. They'll be found for sure, and taken to their real home, with their real friends and colleagues.

Or maybe…

You could just look at the missing monsters record. Just give them a call. You could make someone's day if you could tell their friend. Family. Lover… You fish your cell phone out, flipping it open and dialing an eerily familiar number. It's already ringing before you get a chance to wince at yourself. What are you doing, staying involved in this? They're not your problem to deal with!

**… rrrring … rrrring …**

"Hello, office of the Lost and Found, our trash is your treasure! Are you here to file a report?" Your concentration is lost as your nerves unwind like curling ashes, costing you the chance to hang up in time. Your cell phone slips and clatters to the last cement step just past your feet. You're quivering and fumbling after it, too lost in thinking about the time you filed your own report.

>   
>  _You were shaking then too, barely able to get the words out from the loud crackling of your fire roaring in pain near the receiver. "Y-Yes," you murmur breathlessly, sure you were going to combust and implode simultaneously, and at any moment. "I'm f--fffiling…"_
> 
> _"What is it that you want to report missing, sir?_
> 
> _"M-My…" Embers scatter from your eyes as you look down and realize her note was burning in your hands. Startled, you drop it to the floor, scrambling in desperation to put it out beneath your heel but it's too late. It was like it wanted to be erased forever. Erased from **you** forever. You're clutching the ground, the room is spinning, and the phone is on the floor, asking again--  
>    
>  _

"Hello? Sir?" You realized you had fallen into an old memory, blinking and breathing out the white smoke you didn't realize you were holding. This was a bad idea.

"I'm not filing. I wanted... to know if a missing monster report was filed recently," You finally muster the words through the receiver as you snatch the device up. Cell phones were rather new to the Underground; as convenient as they were, they were abundant and cumbersome with poor reception, so it was realistic to hope the woman on the other end would write off the quiver in your voice as static. "I…found someone."

"Mmmh let me see here… … … nope! There's no reports at all right now. Would you mind giving me your name and number, and if someone comes looking for their description, we co-"

You hung up. Afterwards, you felt a twinge of guilt for being rude to the receptionist. It wasn't their fault Sylvite went missing years ago. Really, the blame for that lies in _you_. She ran away because of _you._ And it was no one else's responsibility to find her but for _yours_. What a great job you've done with that.

At least you were finally able to save someone...

"Hey Toasty, did I say you could go on break?! -UGH, I hate that fuckin' cinnamon shit! You burn that shit off or I'm gonna hose you down, because you ain't bringing that back inside!! You listenin'?"

For once, you didn't mind the overbearing asshole's intrusion to your pensive mood.

 

Truth be told, you weren't feeling that hot after shift. Bufellow held up his end of the threat and gave you a surprise squirt on your way back into the bistro. The dampness clung into your clothes long after you evaporated the wretched wetness, making it downright uncomfortable. Your shift trudged on forever. Finally it came time to go home for a rekindle and fresh change of clothes before going to pick up Fuku from school. You're coming around the corner through the CORE access route from New Home, and you find yourself eyeing the monsters in lab coats a little longer than you should. Trying to pick up a word or two from their conversations, but they're quieted by the machinery around and all you do manage to get you can't comprehend. They look too busy to interrupt. You don't want to try and talk to them, anyway.

If you _really_ wanted to know if they found the skeleton by the water cooler, you _could_ just look. It had been a couple hours, surely someone had come across the lad. Or better yet, they woke up from their cold-induced coma and shuffled off to their destination. Yeah. If you look now, you can be put at ease. This whole situation has been an albatross around your tightly-buttoned collar all day. It was time to put it to rest for good.

You square up your back, flametips and pace quickening. That's right, _you helped save them_. At least savor the knowledge that you've done the right thing. You take the detour adjacent from home, heading off towards the bridge…

…and found the same body propped up against that water cooler, having not moved an inch.

The pit of your burn smolders and you shrink in profound disappointment, kneeling down before them. Now you're going to have to acknowledge that they **are** your problem, huh? You feel absolutely useless. As you stare in disbelief, you do notice one peculiar change about them. Sometime while you were at work, and possibly recently, they became drenched. Did someone try dumping water on them to wake them up? Or… were they sweating? Either way, you cringe at the thought of touching the noticeably slick skeleton.

"Excuse me. You have to wake up now." You puff up, hoping you can bring enough flames through your wet shirt to illicit some attention from them. It garners nothing. "You can't stay like this." Being assertive is harder than it looks, especially when you have no good reason to be so stern. This is why you should have minded your own business to begin with. You put yourself in this mire, and now you were thoroughly stuck in it.

"Please, come on… don't make me beg…" Speaking in general was challenging enough without talking to the unresponsive. You flicker between anger and despair, the words heavy between each breath. At this point, you're frustrated enough to just leave them here to turn to dust or _whatever_ was to come next, but you can't. You've realized this much by now that you were going to be tormented by your decisions if you turned back now. It was a done deal, an inescapable fate. The longer you think about leaving them here, the more you wonder if somewhere, when Sylvite needed it, when she fled, if she was found by a compassionate and helpless stranger too.

You like to imagine they were more competent than you.

You wish you were the kind of monster who didn't need a compelling personal reason not to leave a helpless creature to die. It hurts a little to accept. If you're not a good person, does that make you a bad person? You have all the time you want to debate your morals, because that damn skeleton sits silently against your best protests.

With a sigh you give in to this exhaustion. It's time to stop fighting the complexity of uncertainty and guilt. Tentatively, you test their lab coat for volume of water, and are surprised the fabric seems relatively dry. Now that was curious. You touch the side of their soaked skull and find the real culprit was... condensation. _They're still so cold to the touch._ But how could that be possible? They'd been sitting here on the pumic outside of Hotland's lava pools for hours...

...it seemed reasonable to believe that something was amiss about _where_ you found them. That icy tundra, the snowperson, and the wickedly cold room... You couldn't fathom what the connection could be to this skeleton, but you hoped traces would not persist if you were going to carry his baggage further into your life. Maybe you could find a doctor who knew something about it- surely, one of the mages from the war were still kicking around in New Home? You lower your temperature and wrap your hands around their coat again, finding a comfortable position to carry them.

"Just try to stay warm for me."

 

You once read about something called karma, this invisible force that brought reckoning of prior actions within the universe, and wondered if this was the day you would face yours. You could feel your energy crackle sporadically, clutching the cuffs of your sleeves and twisting them to snuff out and rekindle your hands. It didn't feel pleasant, but it took your mind off of things. The staff at the school edged further away from you than normal, like they sensed the disturbance within. Or maybe they could read your expressions afterall.

Fuku bounced along on the diagonal dark tiles running in a line, heading down the hallway through the masses of scales and smoke. For a moment, the stranger resting in your home alone was far away, and you brightened watching her sing along with the other girls in her class. "Ting, ling! Did you hear that ring? Is it the human I've found? Far, frown, their skin is brown, now we have three humans Underground!" She spins on the furthermost square and stops, laughing at Lapilli nearly falling over herself at her own spin.

This was exactly what you wanted. Her to live life unburdened as a child. There was only so long one could, afterall... She's beside you faithfully after being shooed on by her teachers, looking up at you in confusion at your low lit flame. "Daddy, what is it?" You shake your head, picking her up into your arms to carry her lovingly along the way home. This was not the place to be talking about weird monsters you found in weird locations. The teachers might think worse of you than they already do.

"We have a guest," You rumble quietly. Her flame brightens, nearly edging a light blue as she straightens up and leans back to look at your face again.

"A what? A guest? But Daddy, we can't!" Yeah, you wish that was the case, kid. You can't help but feel amused by her tiny outrage, knowing this was no offense of the particular stranger you found.

"Why is that, _Fue_?"

"I left Ponchy so she can watch her favorite show!!" Oh yes, how ever could you forget her toys? You crackle a chuckle and reassuringly stroke her flames. It was fun watching her overactive imagination. Her plush raccoon was very cranky if she didn't get to watch her favorite show.

"Don't worry, she's in fine position to watch _Beetlejuice_ again."

"No! Not that! I don't want them to see her!" She cries out and I look down at her puzzled.

"And why is that?"

"I-I just-- don't!" Fuku seemed... embarrassed? Since when was she so self-conscious about people seeing her toys...? You exhale heavily and shift her position on your arm while climbing the stairs of the apartment complex.

"Well, alright. They're not here to see her anyway..." She clings into your shirt and peers shyly. You were going to have to tell her something, but you haven't fully figured out what yet. The closest you could get to the truth would be... ideal. "They're also not here to see you or I. You don't have to worry about your toys being around." She remains contemplative, watching you. You take a moment to set her back down on her feet and take out your keys.

You're half relieved to find him right where you left him again, and half disappointed. You close the door, lingering behind as she is quick to inspect your guest. You had thrown your only spare fire retardant tarp over them as a makeshift blanket, and they were laid out across your couch. It seems they weren't gathering as much condensation as before, which you could only take as a positive sign. Fuku offers a greeting, and when they don't reply, chances a peek under their blanket. She turns back to you.

"Are they having a sleepover here then?"

You guess she hasn't learned about monsters falling down in school yet. You feel a little responsible for not beginning to ease her into the idea, especially considering her mother was a candidate. Now isn't a good time for that discussion either, you decide.

"That's about right."

"Isn't it a weird time to be sleeping?"

"Well, you know how you feel when you get wet? All icky and bad, right?"

"Uh-huh!"

"It's kind of like that. We're giving them a place to be while they "dry out"." She glows softly, looking back at them.

"They do look a lil' wet and gross. I hope you feel dry soon!" She tucks the edges of the blanket underneath the seat cushions meticulously and picks at some stray thread she finds along the way. Well that... wasn't as bad as you thought. You chuckle as she finishes her own tending to and moves on, the novelty of the stranger on her couch not enough to keep her attention long. Fuku skitters around to her toys placed on the table, accounting for her friends since you moved them from the couch, and you loosen up your sleeves. Hmmm, her backpack catches your sight and you give it a nudge with a shoe.

"Homework," You remind her. 

"But- Daddy! Ponchy doesn't feel right watching _Beetlejuice_ in front of the guest alone!" She was brushing the raccoon's hair and glancing back at the TV to vouch for her. You don't think she grasps the tape system yet, since it hasn't been rewound to the beginning; the TV displays a still blue frame. Your hands slip into a comfortable fold across your chest, not taking up her reasoning, and she whines louder in response. "Daaadddyyyy! Pleaaaase?"

"If you finish your homework before dinner is ready, we can watch it with Ponchy together." If you weren't literal fire, you could have sworn you would have melted from her bright flash and excited scrambling for the backpack, throwing it over her shoulder. She pauses to look back at your face, rocking back and forth on her heels.

"Do you promise?" You nod and she flickers happily again, and like that, she's off to her room. Goodness, she was eager tonight. It must not be _that_ much homework, you mused.

 

 

The evening was uneventful, and it was surprisingly easy to ignore the skeleton on your couch. Fuku was sated watching her favorite video tape, singing along to the dance song. It was a good evening aside from the fact you couldn't utilize a piece of furniture, and once she began to tire, you shooed her away to bed. You stay awake longer than your usual routine as to give your guest more time to wake up... and maybe keep an eye on them too. With the oddities surrounding them, you couldn't rule anything out. Call it paranoia, call it being careful. Mostly, you couldn't chance an unpleasant surprise here, not with Fuku asleep around the corner.  
  
It wasn't hard to pass the time. You cracked the spine of a worn book, cleaning it off from ash residue on the shelf. It was a gift from a coworker years ago, and you can't exactly remember why you received it… wait, no, maybe you can. It was to help understand different methods of caring for customers, right? In case a patron choked or had a bad reaction to a certain kind of food. The book was rather detailed on most monsters, and for those who were lacking information, the writer went into a long dissertation about certain species having a strong sense of privacy on matters regarding their health. You could always empathize with a need for privacy.

Unfortunately for you, skeletons were on the obscure list. There was quite a bit observation data published though, so you scour it into the early morning hours in hope to make some diagnosis on your guest's ailments on your own. Skeletons were classified as a hardier monster, able to live in many different environments but mostly had a preference for dark spaces. Certain foods were listed as beneficial for increasing their strength and defense, such as calcium and vitamin D, but it was based more on the above ground textbooks than their own work with skeletons. Absolutely nothing was said about becoming ill.

When you were sick of re-reading the entry, you began to idly tab through the rest of the book when something caught your sight elsewhere. Being made of fire had a few key advantages, and one was a distinct awareness of light; afterall, you were always providing your own light source and could control on a subconscious level. You knew you saw another light, though, much softer and a cool hued, flickering in the room you shared.

You stilled and waited to observe. You heard nothing for the source of this, and chanced to rise up from your seat, speaking calmly.

"Are you awake..?" There's only silence. However, the light fades and you glide forward after it to catch it's source before it disappears. So engrossed in the source of it that you're left a little taken aback finding your guest IS conscious.  
  
"no… i'm sans… " It was only when he flashed you a hearty grin that his words sunk in. His eyesockets crinkled upwards around his cheekbones, still watching you as close the distance between them. But where had that blue light come from a moment ago? Him? Well, it didn't matter you suppose. He was finally awake. His return to wherever he came from was close at hand.

"How are you feeling?" It's really more important to you than his identity at this time, though you're grateful he gave you a name. You'd have something to say to Fuku when she asked in the morning where their guest was. _If_ he was gone by then. The condensation on San's skull had begun dripping heavily, shaping around the contours of his face like beads of sweat. You're left to wonder if it _is_ sweat this time.

"i feel bad, yeah... _bad to the bone_." And he looked it. Sure his breathing wasn't shallow anymore and he was awake, but he looked (and sounded) delirious, breathing in and out so deep it was like his whole body was moving along with to try and grasp at air desperately. You wondered if part of his problem was just your minimal-draft apartment and enclosed area burning off the oxygen around. The book said nothing about skeletons requiring oxygen, though...

"Do you need anything?"

"heh... sure... a _ketchup_ would be nice." You don't understand his request, but you also don't question it. Instead, you turn back towards the kitchen in silence, retrieving a bottle of the condiment and returning to the side of the couch, holding it out to him. The pinpricks of light in San's eyesockets seem a little unfocused as they look between your face and your ketchup offering, before tentatively accepting it.

He unscrews the lid and sets the lisp to his mouth, taking a large gulp. You might have found this completely bizarre, but you manage to keep your judgements to yourself on the matter; reading that book with the bizarre palettes of other monster species and working as a waiter has left you numb. Because your eyesight is straining with your creeping exhaustion, you leaned in to watch him closer. He noticed, you could see it by the quick glance you earn. Sans opts to drink the entire contents of your ketchup instead of commenting upon it.

When he's done, he screws the cap back on and sinks deeper into your couch, chuckling and grinning nearly the whole length of his jawline.

"...you know, i was trying to _play with fire_ there. see if you could handle my _funny bone_. but then you handed me this, and- and _it's the best ketchup i've ever had_ , and..." He trails off. For a moment, realizing he was only playing a game, you feel a flash of anger. You have spent a lot of time and effort looking out for him, and the first thing he does is make fun of you? "and... i-i wasn't ready for this. you _squash_ -ed my best attempts. i guess i should have _fig_ -ured that would happen. you look like the kind of flint that will burn a hole straight through any _artich-_ jokes."

Sans is still talking, still chattering away at you with these puns, and you finally notice when you tune out the actual words coming out that there is this strained edge to his voice. A fine quiver.

Huh. He has just as much- no, _more_ reason to be nervous about being here than you do. After all, you isolated him without consent in your home. Now you feel a little bad about it, shifting feet. " _canned_ i start over?" Sans chuckles nervously and you swear his smile borderlines a grimace. "i can _turnip_ a _new leaf._ i'm good at _raisin_ the bar-"

"Please stop." He does. Awkward silence stretches between you, his toothy grin even quiets to a softer look. You sigh and cautiously inch forward, brushing a single finger against his forehead in a test. He wasn't any warmer or colder than last time you checked. "I'm Grillby. I'm sorry if I was intruding in your affairs, but when I found you, I was.. worried you were dying. So I took you to my home." Sans takes longer than you expect to react to those words, so you add in quickly to cut the relapsing awkward silence, "you've slept most of the day."

At that addition, he closes his right eye socket in a tired wink. "heh. guess i was _bone_ tired." You wonder if he can even function without making any jokes. As if he heard your thoughts, he continued on to say, "thanks for your concern, buddy, though i don't know if i'm dying either. i can't recall feeling so chilled _to the bone_ before... or much else for that matter. my skull rings like a cymbal when i try to remember what's going on." That sounded petty concerning. Maybe if you told him what you observed, it would help him remember? His eyes lazily roll up towards you, defaulting to a relaxed smile before you can consider it more. "i should go though. i don't want _tibia_ burden."

You're grateful you didn't have to tell him to leave. You really don't want to chance waking up to dust coated couch and a young daughter asking questions about it.

You watch him shuffling under the blanket, digging elbows in to prop himself up, then fully raise up into a sitting position. He blinks hard with a sway and you unfortunately mistake it for simply being woozy. The next moment, he's fallen face first into your floor, the initial crack following up with the clatter of his bones. You wince and swear to yourself, scooping him up and giving him a worried once over. The sound was worse than the impact as his bones showed no sign of fracturing. San's skull lulled along, his expression slipping back into a neutral one and he shuddered in your hands. "Sans? Are you alright?" He groans miserably in reply. "...Don't worry about it. Please rest up."

So much for getting him out of your apartment, he's definitely in no shape to go anywhere. You situate him again on the couch, watching a moment longer for him to settle back in before retreating to your own room to get some sleep.

 


End file.
